It goes like this - once the world was filled with roving bandits. Hoodlums who stole and killed, who cared not what was left. And so the world was filled with anguish and injustice. And then one such killer found one village, and settled down. He saw that the ones he robbed from were easy and bountiful prey, and so there was no value to further travelling the wastes.

At first the victims were afraid. The stationary bandit saw them as his property, and felt free to demand whatever he wished. But then a strange thing happened. For you see, the bandit realised that he had become tied to the place, that by protecting the village as well as stealing from it, he could improve his earnings in the future. And so the village flourished.

And then a hero came upon the village. He saw the stationary bandit, and saw him as tyrant. While his back was turned, this hero drew his sword, and in one great, terrible strike, struck down the old bandit at last. Then with a flourish he sheathed his blade, and strode away, thinking that justice's will was done.

But what he knew not was that the tyrant truly loved the village, and that even as his footsteps faded in the blown sand, the other roving bandits, long held away from the prize they sought, began quietly to close in.

I was once like you cowering there, thinking I was a hero, maybe. But I saw that the real world is that of the roving bandits, waiting ever beyond the threshold. That 'betrayal', 'oppression', 'censorship' are but nothing before the depravations that chaos may unleash. Order must be maintained, or else the enemies will be free to struck. So, tell me. Will you join me? Or will you join the scrap pile?